A Waltz

Yesterday afternoon, Helena Iara suffered badly from an upset stomach, but if I carried her around the house, I found that she calmed down at least a little bit.  Rita had put some music on the stereo, and suddenly, one of my favorite songs came up, "Qué bonita es esta vida," by the Colombian vallenato singer Jorge Celedon.  (I was introduced to the song by the child soldiers with whom Rita and I worked to produce the film Life's Roulette, and I was always stunned by the enthusiasm with which they gave praise to the joy of life, given how much misery it had brought them.  You can see that excitement (and hear the song) at the beginning of the documentary we made about making the movie)

I mention the music because it seems to illustrate something about what I am trying to do with this blog: hearing the music, I began to move with Helena, knowing that she likes the swaying movement of dance.  And suddenly, I realized that a song I had heard hundreds of time was not, in fact, a vallenato (a rhythm based on the Colombian cumbia) as I had always thought.  It was a waltz.  My feet knew the fact before I did, and Helena thanked me for it instantly: the waltz made her stop crying, as she had not done all afternoon.

What's the point here?  Babies teach us.  Not because Helena could tell me, "listen to the 3/4 measure, Dad!", but simply because around her, I reacted in a different way, cared about different things, paid attention to other aspects of the music.  Before I had listened to the lyrics, thought of the child soldiers, imagined the bright sun of the morning and the smell of colombian coffee that the words evoke... but only with her and her upset stomach did I dance.

Something similar happens with these talks on philosophy.  I don't have any illusions that she'll understand.  But I know that she likes my voice, and that she likes to look into my eyes as I look into hers.  And I learn something, simply because she is there.  I have to tell the story a different way, look at the moral differently, try on a different perspective.  And whether it's a waltz or poststructuralarist French philosophy, I learn something in the process.